Tainted Love
by hidingELSEWHERE
Summary: A series of one-shots focusing around Tate and Violet from American Horror Story.
1. White Tiles

**This will be a series of oneshots for Tate and Violet from American Horror Story. This first one was a little rough, as there's only been two episodes. Hopefully, they'll get more entertaining and sexilicious as time goes on. I don't own American Horror Story, although I do wish I owned Tate. Sexy bastard.**

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><p>He notices her hair lying against the white tile of the bathroom floor, swaying back and forth as the breeze from the window gently guides it to cover her eyes. It flows smoothly as it tenderly slides across the blood stained floor, reaching the wrist he soon reaches down to grab – her other arm remains sprawled out, adjacent to her lips that seem to quiver, as if begging for a breath. Pain, although already a prominent part of his life, floods through his body. He bites his tongue as he holds her wounded limb, his mouth hovering above her unmistakably shuddering lips.<p>

Her warm breath is unmistakable against his ear.

For a moment, he sees her standing in the corner, blood pouring from the neck he ever so wants to caress. Within a blink, she's gone, replaced by the one resting in front of him, a serene panic expressed through her quickening pace in breath.

Through the hair covering the eyes he loves most, she faintly sees the golden hair suspended above her; it seems angelic in the moment, which is ironic to her in a way. She briefly closes her eyes, music from her bedroom down the hall filling her head as she concentrates on breathing.

He watches as her trembling mouth forms a simple smile, her pale cheeks becoming rosy as she lets out a hushed giggle. "Go put on some Nirvana," she whispers as the grin remains stricken across her face. "I'm feeling kind of pissy right now."

He hesitates a moment before shaking his head, slowly lowering himself to her, his now trembling lips meeting her soft and delicate smile. His free hand begins to softly stroke her brown hair before he begins humming _Smells Like Teen Spirit. _


	2. Voyeurism

**Part twoooo. Again, there's still only two episodes, so I apologize if things still seem a little weird. The grammar is off and little in this one, but I think it adds a little bit to how it's following what's going on in Violet's head.**

**I don't own American Horror Story, but I _have_ started a piggy bank to help collect money so I can buy Tate. **

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><p>She knows he's watching her sleep, but she doesn't say anything – doesn't move. It's not long before she's lying still, pondering how he got into the house anyway. Part of her wants to scream for him to get out; after all, she's a virgin, so it's weird having a boy in her room at night. The other half of her? It takes command. She lies motionless, waiting to see what he'll do.<p>

It's quiet for an eternity – hypothetically, of course. He simply stands at the foot of her bed for what seems like hours. And as strange as it seems to say, it pisses her off. She wants him to come to her bedside – lay with her, stroke her hair, and … _ugh. _

She stops herself.

Violet, he's _crazy._

So she had listened in on a few of her father's appointments, big deal. She never expected to even think twice about someone as psychotic … as _insane_ … as amazing –

The floor starts to creek beside her, and it's not long before she feels a hot breath on the base of her neck. It sends shivers down her spine, and for a moment, she debates screaming – running away from this damned house, for Christ's sake.

What if it's evil? What if it's _not_ Tate standing there, serenely watching over her from the foot of her bed? It could be a fucking rapist for all she knows. She never did look.

_She was too afraid he'd see her move. _

Her fears are hushed, though, as she feels the pressure of a hand on her shoulder, a thumb softly stroking back and forth. She's frozen for an instance as she enjoys the touch – the care.

She knows it's him. It's his hand … the one she had felt that time in her room. It was strong and rough, but held her own with such understanding and affection.

As her shoulder is stroked, she starts to feel the strap of her tank top begin to slide down her arm. His hand stops instantly, his gentle touch replaced with a hesitant grip.

_She decides to take a risk._

Her own hand reaches up from beneath the covers, pulling her tank top even lower before grabbing what she can of his arm. She strokes it softly, and his cautious hold once again turns sweet and soft.

"I knew you were awake," she hears him say in a tone she can't read.

"I knew _it was you_," she whispers, her hand sliding down to touch his. "You're not supposed to be in here."

"Hell to that," he mutters, and she smirks.

She feels his body weight shift onto the bed, and she knows he's sitting beside her.

"Violet?" he asks.

"Yeah?"

"If you're going to pull down your shirt, you should make sure the door is locked."

She smiles. "I'm not afraid of anything."


	3. Imagine

**Notes: **Just a little something before the showing of episode three tonight. It's so hard to write for something that only has two episodes (twisted ones, might I add). This is just a simple and short oneshot to lyrics by All Time Low.

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><p>There wasn't a hint of guilt as she snuck him upstairs, both of them quiet as they shuffled through the hallway past the room where both of her parents silently slumbered. He walked behind her with the swiftest of strides, his hand grasping the one that pulled him further and further towards her room. And for just a moment, as she pulled the handle to her door, she felt at peace in the house – like nothing could stop her.<p>

_She's got a target painted on her back,_  
><em>And keeps a list of the qualities a good girl lacks.<em>  
><em>She bites her lip and tips her bottle,<em>  
><em>I take a drink 'cause the truth is hard to swallow.<em>

He shut the door behind them with the greatest of ease, his ubiquitous smirk spread proudly across his pale lips.

"We can't get caught," she whispered, folding her arms as she retreated smoothly to her dresser, proceeding to light a candle – her shithead parents would see even the slightest luminescence of her lamp. "My dad isn't exactly too keen on you being here."

_Sex and white lies,_  
><em>Handcuffs and alibis,<em>  
><em>She lays her halo on the pillow where she sleeps…<em>  
><em>Her heart beats, red wine,<em>  
><em>My toxic valentine.<em>  
><em>Lays her halo on the pillow that used to be mine.<em>

"He made that obvious last time we talked."

"What exactly did you tell him?"

He laughed, "Violet –"

"What did you say? Because he seems pretty pissed."

"I told him how I imagined something."

"Imagined?"

He paused, the sound of his shoes echoing throughout the room as he approached her, ever so slightly placing his hand on her back with a gentle and cool touch. "How I imagine our first kiss."

She wrapped her arms around his neck in return, their lips meeting as the sound of their swaying creaked the floorboards.


End file.
